The Debutante Is Mine

Our souls sit close and silently within,

And their own web from their own entrails spin;

And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such,

That, spider-like, we feel the tenderest touch.

~J
OHN
D
RYDEN

The Season Standard—the Daily Chronicle of Consequence
.

L
ilah read no farther than the heading of the newspaper in her hand before she lost her nerve.

“I cannot look,” she said, thrusting the
Standard
to her cousin. “After last night’s ball, I shouldn’t be surprised if the first headline read, ‘Miss Lilah Appleton: Most Unmarriageable Maiden in England.’ And beneath it, ‘Last Bachelor in Known World Weds Septuagenarian Spinster as Better Alternative.’ ”

Lilah’s exhale crystallized in the cold air, forming a cloud of disappointment. It drifted off the park path, dissipating much like the hopes and dreams she’d had for her first two Seasons.

Walking beside her, Juliet, Lady Granworth, laughed, her blue eyes shining with amusement. Even on this dull, gray morning, she emitted a certain brightness and luster from within. Beneath a lavender bonnet, her features and complexion were flawless, her hair a mass of golden silk. And if she weren’t so incredibly kind, Lilah might be forced to hate her as a matter of principle, on behalf of plain women throughout London.

“You possess a rather peculiar talent for worry, Cousin,” Juliet said, skimming the five-column page.

The notion pleased Lilah. “Do you think so?”

After twenty-three years of instruction, Mother often told her that she wasn’t a very good worrier. Or perhaps it was more that her anxieties were misdirected. This, Lilah supposed, was where her
talent
emerged. She was able to imagine the most absurd disasters, the more unlikely the better. There was something of a relief in the ludicrous. After all, if she could imagine a truly terrible event, then she could deal with anything less dramatic. Or so she hoped.

Yet all the worrying in the world would not alter one irrefutable fact—Lilah needed to find a husband this Season or else her life would be over.

“Indeed, I do,” Juliet said with a nod, folding the page before tucking it away. “However, there was nothing here worth your worry or even noteworthy at all.”

Unfortunately, Lilah knew what that meant.

“Not a single mention?” At the shake of her cousin’s head, Lilah felt a sense of déjà vu and disappointment wash over her. This third and final Season was beginning on the same foot as the first two had. She would almost prefer to have been named
most unmarriageable
. At least she would have known that someone had noticed her.

Abruptly, Juliet’s expression softened, and she placed a gentle hand on Lilah’s shoulder. “You needn’t worry. Zinnia and I will come up with the perfect plan.”

As of yet, none of their plans had yielded a result.

Over Christmas, they had attended a party at the Duke of Vale’s castle. Most of those in attendance had been unmarried young women, which had given nearly everyone the hope of marrying the duke. Even Lilah had hoped as much—at first. Yet when the duke had been unable to remember her name, she’d abruptly abandoned that foolishness. And a good thing too, because he’d married her dearest friend, Ivy, instead.

The duke had developed a
Marriage Formula
—a mathematical equation that would pair one person with another according to the resulting answer. Then, using his own formula, the duke had found his match—Ivy. As luck would have it, both Ivy and Vale had fallen deeply in love as well. Now, if only Lilah could find her own match.

“I have been considering Vale’s
Marriage Formula
. All I would need to do is fill out a card.” At least, that was how Lilah thought it worked. “Yet with Vale and Ivy still on their honeymoon, I do not know if they will return in time.”

Then again, there was always the possibility that the equation would produce no match for her either.

Juliet’s steps slowed. “Even though I couldn’t be more pleased for Ivy, I’m not certain that I want to put your future happiness in the hands of an equation.”

Lilah didn’t need
happiness
. In fact, her requirements for marriage and a husband had greatly diminished in the past two years. She’d gone from wanting a handsome husband in the prime of his life, to settling for a gentleman of any age who wasn’t terribly disfigured. She would like him to be kind to her as well, but she would accept any man who didn’t bellow and rant about perfection, as her father had done.

“A pleasant conversation with someone who shares my interests would be nice, not necessarily happiness, or even love, for that matter,” Lilah said, thinking of the alternative. “All I truly need is not to be forced into marriage with Cousin Winthrop.”

Lilah cringed as she spoke. This was the crux of her problems. If she did not marry a titled gentleman by the end of this Season, then she would have to marry Winthrop, as her father’s will decreed. Like her father, Winthrop was obsessed with social standing. Perhaps even more so. And worse, whenever he’d witnessed one of Father’s tirades, a dark, fiendish gleam lit his eyes and curled his lips into a smile.

Lilah did not need the gift of foresight to understand what the future would hold for her as the wife of such a man.

This union had not always been her father’s demand, however. At one time, all familial expectations had lain on her brother’s shoulders. Yet when Jasper was killed in a duel over a married woman and known courtesan, Father had been humiliated. His position in society faltered too, because Jasper’s actions had tainted the family name.

As a result, Father had amended his will. He’d wanted to restore the family’s honor by aligning with another noble bloodline. And since his only daughter was such a plain, unmarriageable creature, he’d added an incentive to ensure her success. Thereby, it was written that Lilah would have three Seasons to secure a titled nobleman or else be forced to
preserve
the family bloodline by marrying Winthrop Appleton, the new Baron Haggerty.

Lilah tried to expel her fear in an exhale, but all that came out was mist. She wished she could think of a worry that was worse than marrying Winthrop. Like the world suddenly opening up and swallowing her whole, for example. But still, that wasn’t the worst possibility.

“I will not let you marry that conniving serpent,” Juliet hissed. “We both know that if it weren’t for him, your brother would still be alive.”

Lilah nodded thoughtfully. True to his nature, Winthrop had been the one who’d told the Count of Montclaron that his wife planned to run away with Jasper. The French nobleman—and renowned marksman—hadn’t cared about his wife’s random affairs, but to abandon him would have caused humiliation. Therefore, he’d challenged Jasper to a duel.

“Though who is to say that another husband might not have stood in Montclaron’s place sooner or later?” Even though she’d loved her brother dearly—loved him to this day—Lilah also knew that his roguish nature would have caught up with him eventually.

Her own experiences were completely opposite of what her brother’s had been. While he had received so much attention that a constant selection of women had been at his disposal, Lilah could not tempt even one single man. And she was running out of time.

Pausing on the path to calm her nerves, Lilah noticed a spider’s web draped over the boxwood hedge beside her. “I envy the lives of spiders. All they do is wake up, build a web, and wait. Likely, there is no concern involved. The spider knows that, eventually, the sticky gossamer threads will ensnare something.”

Proof of that rested in a taut bundle of silk near the center of the web. In the bleary late-morning light peering through a soot-colored sky, beads of dew clung to the spiral, resembling drops of liquid silver. The spider herself was a dark beauty, marked with faint gray lines. She possessed a rather optimistic view of her future, busily repairing the surrounding area of her web, apparently anticipating more visitors.

Juliet leaned in to study the web as well. Then, with a shake of her head, she took a step back. “While I am not particularly fond of any eight-legged creature, I admire your rather unique perspective. Many a young woman would prefer to emulate a butterfly, gaining admiration and flitting from one gentleman to the next.”

“Lying in wait for a
victim
seems to be my only option.” Lilah laughed wryly. “A young woman of three and twenty with brown hair, brown eyes, and a forehead—which my mother has described as
vast
—is not likely to be compared to a butterfly.”

“And for that, you should be thankful. Have you ever seen one up close? Absolutely terrifying!” Juliet kept her expression serious for a moment, until a smile gave her away and distracted Lilah from her worries.

And she appreciated her cousin’s efforts. It had been a few months since Juliet had come to stay at Aunt Zinnia’s townhouse. Only four years separated them in age, with Juliet the elder, and they’d become close.

It seemed strange, however, that for most of Lilah’s life, she’d never known her second cousin. Many years ago, the family had fractured, severing ties with Juliet’s parents and leaving them strangers. Then, a year ago, shortly following the death of Juliet’s husband, Aunt Zinnia had reached out to her with an olive branch. And now it was as if they’d always known each other.

“Jest aside, however,” Juliet continued, “in the past few weeks, I’ve suspected you have been hiding your best feature. Your milky complexion serves as a canvas for dark brows, warm eyes, and chimney-sweep lashes. Your nose is neither too long nor too pert. Your chin is nicely curved. And whenever you choose to smile—which is not nearly often enough—you look as if you have a secret. From what I understand, men are intrigued by women with secrets.”

Lilah didn’t know how to respond to such flattery. Other than her dearest friend, Ivy, Juliet was the only other person who said nice things to her. Mother had tried once or twice, but the efforts had been entirely too awkward and better left forgotten. “But I have no secrets. I believe in honesty.”

“Yes! Don’t you see? That
is
your secret. No one in the
ton
ever expects honesty,” Juliet said with a light, conspiratorial laugh. Then, linking arms with Lilah, she turned and began to breeze down the path in the direction of their waiting carriage. “I can tell by the abundance of carriages on the street that it’s nearly calling hours. If we fail to return shortly, I fear that Zinnia will unleash her severe stare upon the innocent parlor clock.”

Aunt Zinnia’s requests were always of an urgent nature. She was forever saying,
“Time is not our ally.”

Thinking about time was exhausting. It would be nice to enjoy a single moment without worrying about the clock or the calendar. “Aunt Zinnia is rather like my mother. Both sisters are rather
severe
about most things.”

Lilah cast one last glance back at the spider, wishing that she too could spin a web to decide her own fate.

Juliet quickened their pace. “This is why we must return. Your future husband might very well call upon you this morning, flowers in hand.”

With the clamor of carriages nearby, Juliet likely missed Lilah’s snort of disbelief. “I do not mean to disappoint you, but there will be no morning callers.”

It wasn’t that Lilah was a pessimist. Not entirely. The simple truth was that during her first two Seasons, she’d never once had a gentleman caller. Therefore, the beginning of her third was likely to transpire as any other day would. Still, she felt a measure of comfort in her low expectations. There was no need to imagine a catastrophe awaiting her arrival.

“Last night’s ball held little promise, I grant you,” Juliet offered with a thoughtful nod. “However, it was only the
first
ball of the Season. There will be many other opportunities to make an impression.”

“I think I would be content if a single gentleman had remembered my name.” Lilah recalled every moment of the awkward evening. Standing between the perfectly poised Aunt Zinnia and flawlessly beautiful Juliet, Lilah had felt like a broom—out of place, uninteresting, and not meant to be acknowledged. “I was introduced to Lord Ellery three times last night, but each time he hadn’t the vaguest notion of who I was.”

“Some gentlemen have horrid memories.”

Lilah appreciated the sentiment but knew that her cousin had no idea what it was like to be plain. After all, during Juliet’s Seasons and before she’d married Lord Granworth, she’d been given the moniker of
the Goddess
. Even as a widow, now aged seven and twenty, it was still true. Juliet possessed a timeless beauty. “You have been away from London for more than five years and yet the viscount remembered
your
name.”

“I’m certain it was only by chance.”

That particular happenstance had yet to favor Lilah. “He was amongst several gentlemen who offered condolences over the loss of your husband last year.”

As they neared the entrance where they’d begun their walk, Juliet lifted her hand, signaling their waiting driver to come around. “If the late Lord Granworth’s name, or even my own name, is on anyone’s lips, it only means that the gossips are in want of interesting topics.”

“Or perhaps that you have always made a favorable impression.”

Juliet stiffened but did not respond.

Lilah thought back to last night and wondered what it would have been like to have stood in Juliet’s slippers. “If I had your beauty, then—”

“Do not make such a wish, dear Cousin, I beg of you,” Juliet interrupted, turning toward her. Fine worry lines knitted her brow, and her mouth drew tight in a frown. “You have qualities that are far and above my own. You are lovely, sharp-witted, and approachable. I daresay the very makings of the Season’s
Original
.”

At this, Lilah could not contain her laugh. “The
Original
, indeed!”

Each year, an anonymous committee named the one person whose style and character shined above all others, the one person whom everyone wanted to imitate . . . the Season’s
Original
. No one knew which members of the
ton
comprised this anonymous committee. Nonetheless, at the end of the first month of the Season, the name of the
Original
was published in the
Standard
. Last year, the poor but beautiful Annabel Bronwyn was named and shortly thereafter had become the toast of the
ton.
Rumor had it that she had over a dozen offers for marriage.